Lochinvar depended on a low tierce guard with a sloping point, and
reined his horse near, that his enemy might be prevented from closing
with him on his left, or side of disadvantage. The dragoon used the
simpler hanging guard and pressed upon his adversary with plain dour
weight of steel.

At the first clash of the iron the horses heaved their heads, and down
from the hillside above there came a faint crying as of shepherds to
their flocks. But the combatants were too intent to take notice. John
Scarlet reined his horse at the side, his head a little low set between
his shoulders, and his eyes following every thrust and parry with a
glance like a rapier.

For the first five minutes Inglis tried all his powers of battering upon
Wat Gordon's lighter guard, his heavy cavalry sword beating and
disengaging with the fellest intent. He fought with a still and
lip-biting fury. He struck to kill, hammering with strong threshing
blows; Wat, more like a duellist of the schools--rather, as it seemed,
to show his mastery of the weapon. But nevertheless the thin supple
blade of the young laird followed every beat and lunge of the heavier
iron with speed and certainty. Each moment it seemed as if Wat must
certainly be cut down. But his black obeyed the rein at the moment of
danger, and his sword twisted round that of his adversary as an adder
winds itself about a stick.

More and more angry grew the dragoon, and a grim smile sat intent and
watchful on the face of John Scarlet. But he spoke never a word, and the
red sentries paced placidly to and fro along the burnside of Garryhorn.
More and more wildly Cornet Inglis struck, urging his horse forward to
force Lochinvar's black down the hill. But featly and gracefully the lad
wheeled and turned, keeping ever his hand in tierce and his blade across
his body, slipping and parrying with the utmost calm and ease.

"Click, click!" came the noise of the clashing sword-blades, flickering
so swiftly that the eye could not follow them. In time Lochinvar found
out his opponent's disadvantage, which was in the slower movement of his
horse, but to this Inglis responded like a man. He kept his beast
turning about within his own length, so that come where he would Wat had
no advantage. Yet gradually and surely the dragoon was being tired out.
From attacking he fell to guarding, and at last even his parry grew
lifeless and feeble. Wat, on the other hand, kept his enemy's blade
constantly engaged. He struck with certainty and parried with a light
hammering movement that was pretty to watch, even to one who had no
skill of the weapon.

At last, wearied with continual check, Inglis leaned too far over his
horse's head in a fierce thrust. The beast slipped with the sudden
weight, and the dragoon's steel cap went nearly to his charger's neck.

In a moment, seeing his disadvantage, Inglis attempted to recover; but
Wat's lighter weapon slid under his guard as he threw his sword hand
involuntarily up. It pierced his shoulder, and a darker red followed the
steel upon his horseman's coat, as Wat withdrew his blade to be ready
for the return. But of this there was no need, for Inglis instantly
dropped his hand to his side and another sword suddenly struck up that
of Wat Gordon, as the dragoon's heavy weapon clattered upon the stones.

CHAPTER VII.

THE FIELD OF BOTHWELL BRIG.

"Gentlemen," cried a stern, calm voice, "gentlemen, is it thus that ye
amuse yourselves when ye are upon the King's service?"

I turned about, and lo! it was the voice of John Graham of Claverhouse,
high-pitched to the carrying note of command--of the man whom all the
South and West knew then as the great persecutor, and all the North
afterwards as the great captain who stood for his master when all the
others forsook him and fled. I admit that my heart beat suddenly feeble
before him, and as for my lads who were with me, I think they gave
themselves up for dead men. Though slender and not tall, Clavers
nevertheless looked noble upon the black horse which had carried him at
a gallop down the burnside from Garryhorn. His eyes were full of fire,
his bearing of gallantry. Yet methought there was something relentless
about the man--something that friend might one day feel the bite of as
well as foe. For this was the man who, at his master's word, was now
driving Scotland before him as sheep are driven into buchts on the
hillside. But Scotland did not easily take to praying according to Act
of Parliament, and I minded the witty old gentlewoman's word to
Claverhouse himself, "Knox didna win his will without clavers, an'
aiblins Clavers winna get his withoot knocks." It was a witty saying and
a true, and many a day I lay in the moss-hags and wished that I had said
it.

Yet I think we of the Ancient Province never felt so keenly the
bitterness of his oppression, though mostly it was without bowels of
mercy, as we did the riding and driving of Robert Grier of Lag, of
Douglas of Morton, of Queensberry and Drumlanrig, that were of
ourselves--familiar at our tables, and ofttimes near kinsmen as well.

What John Graham did in the way of cess and exaction, and even of
shooting and taking, was in some measure what we had taken our count and
reckoning with. But that men who knew our outgoings and incomings, our
strengths and fastnesses, who had companied with us at kirk and market,
should harry us like thieves, made our hearts wondrously hot and angry
within us. For years I never prayed without making it a petition that I
might get a fair chance at Robert Grier--if it were the Lord's will. And
indeed it is not yet too late.

But it was Claverhouse that had come across us now.

"You would kill more King's men!" he cried to Wat Gordon; "you that have
come hither to do your best to undo the treason of your forebears. My
lad, that is the way to get your head set on the Netherbow beside your
father's. Are there no man-sworn Whigs in the West that true men must
fall to hacking one another?"

He turned upon Inglis as fiercely:

"Cornet, are you upon duty? By what right do you fall to brawling with
an ally of the country? Have we overly many of them in this accursed
land, where there are more elephants and crocodiles in Whig-ridden
Galloway than true men on whom the King may rely?"

But Inglis said never a word, being pale from the draining of his wound.
I looked for him to denounce me as a rebel and a spy; but he was wholly
silent, for the man after all was a man.

"How began ye this brawling?" quoth Claverhouse, looking from one to the
other of them, minding me no more than I had been a tripping
hedge-sparrow.

"We had a difference, and cast up our fathers to one another," at last
said Inglis, half sullenly.

"It were best to let fathers a-be when you ride on his Majesty's outpost
duty, Cornet Inglis. But you are wounded. Fall out and have your hurt
examined."

"It is a flea-bite," quoth Peter Inglis, stoutly.

"A man this!" thought I. For I loved courage.

Yet nevertheless, he dismounted, and John Scarlet helped him off with
his coat upon the short heather of the brae-face.

"And whom may we have here?" cried Claverhouse, as Inglis went
stumblingly to the hillside upon the arm of John Scarlet. He turned his
fine dark eyes full upon me as he spoke, and I thought that I had never
seen any man look so handsome. Yet, for all that, fear of the great
enemy of our house and cause sat cold in my vitals. Though I deny not
that his surpassing beauty of person took my eye as though I had been a
woman--the more perhaps because I had little enough of my own.

But my kinsman Wat Gordon was no whit dismayed. He dusted his silken
doublet front, swept his white-feathered hat in the air in reverence,
and introduced me to the formidable captain as one that has good
standing and knows it well:

"My cousin, William Gordon, younger son of the House of Earlstoun!"

"Ah," said Claverhouse, smiling upon me not so ill-pleased, "I have
heard of him--the home stayer, the nest-egg. He that rode not to
Bothwell with 'the Earl'[3] and 'the Bull.' Whither rides he now thus
early?"

[Footnote 3: The laird of Earlstoun was often called in jest "the
Earl."]

"He rides, Colonel Graham, to bury his father."

I thought my cousin was too bold thus to blurt out my mission, to the
chief of them that had killed him whom I went to seek, but he was wiser
than I in this matter.

Claverhouse smiled, and looked from the one to the other of us.

"You Gordons have your own troubles to get your fathers buried," he
said. "I suppose you will claim that this cub also is a good King's
man?"

"He is well affected, colonel," said Lochinvar gaily; "and there are
none too many likeminded with him in these parts!"

"Even the affectation does him monstrous credit," quoth Clavers,
clapping Walter on the shoulder; "it is much for a Gordon in this
country to affect such a virtue as loyalty. I wonder," he went on,
apparently to himself, "if it would be possible to transplant you
Gordons, that are such arrant rebels here and so loyal in the North. It
were well for the land if this could be done. In the North a few dozen
Whigs would do small harm; here ten score King's men melled and married
would settle the land and keep the King's peace."

Then he looked at my cousin with a certain uncommon gracious affection
that sat well on him--all the more that he showed such a thing but
rarely.

"Well, Wat, for your sake let young Earlstoun go bury his father in
peace, an it likes him. The more Whigs buried the better pleased will
John Graham be. If he will only bury his brother also when he is about
it, he will rid the earth of a very pestilent fellow!"

"There is no great harm in Sandy," returned Lochinvar briskly and
easily. From his whole demeanour I saw that he was in good estimation
with Colonel Graham,